


cast me a spell

by dearmoonlight



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: (like. Once), Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Blood, Childhood Friends to Lovers, M/M, Urban Fantasy, a Coming of Age story, and more to appear!, mentions of animal death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmoonlight/pseuds/dearmoonlight
Summary: Mao doesn’t even register what he’s saying, only knows that he wants the warmth of his friend’s presence to keep the cold at bay.“Hey, Ritsu” he says, and without even waiting for him to answer “I think I changed my mind about making you dinner.”(Alternatively: Mao fights the dead, breaks an ancient curse, realizes he's head over heels for his best friend and tries to stop the apocalypse. Not necessary in that order.)
Relationships: Isara Mao/Sakuma Ritsu
Comments: 24
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: There's a very brief description of blood / animal abuse. If you want to skip it, go from "Mao flinches unconsciously at the sound, but he’s too busy staring at the room itself." to "He turns his head at the sliding sound coming from one of the corners of the room."
> 
> TW2: There are also some mentions of animal death. Please, take care!
> 
> In other self-indulgent news: Mao is both, a cat shapeshifter and a wizard. That's it.

The thing is, Mao doesn’t even know what spurred him to break curses.

It was not what he wanted to do as a child - hidden away in his family basement as he worked in small things, little traps set by his mother that felt warm against his own fingers, her magic filling him with a sense of familiarity as he worked in the intermingling spells. She was never an outstanding wizard, and the challenges were set just to keep him entertained while she did her chores, but it awakened something inside of Mao.

Small things turned into endless curiosity, and soon he was devouring books and training until his own power failed him, sweat against his forehead and whole body exhausted. He started to understand the problems behind the small broken spells at first sight: the point where his mother made a mistake on purpose just so her magic would malfunction felt like a knot to the touch of his own. And when Mao nailed it, when he set thing rights - and he saw the shirts folding themselves neatly, or the brush levitating from its place, or just the smile curving his mother’s lips - a feeling of accomplishment flooded through him.

Mao didn’t decide to make it his way of living. He didn’t wake up one day and thought “Oh, maybe I could dedicate my whole existence to break curses and help people by killing monsters that would scare shitless lucifer himself!”, but he might as well have. Same result.

Ritsu doesn’t say it out loud, but Mao knows he hates it.

“The client was desperate.” Mao says, tone full of indulgence. “I’ll be home by midnight.”

“Yours or mine?”

Mao rolls his eyes. He knows Ritsu can’t see the gesture, but he hopes the feeling comes across by the light click of his tongue.

“I won’t make you dinner.”

“Actually, I was thinking Maakun could be my dinner~”

“Would you stop pulling at my foot for a second?” Mao sighs, slightly exasperated. He knows Ritsu wouldn’t try to dig his fangs into his neck given the chance, so the feeling running through him is far closer to annoyance than it is to concern. Trust his friend to make jokes at the worst possible time, anyway.

Mao looks at the house again. His grip around the phone tighten at the thought that it’s absolutely still. It’s the kind of quiet that brings goosebumps to his skin, a bad omen wrapped in chills. The lawn is neatly cut, a garden gnome with a pointy red hat guarding it with a hollow eyes that seem fixated in Mao, the windows are open - no broken crystal or strange shadows in sight. All in all, it just looks like the slightly creepy home of a neighbors that’s been far away for too long. No one would say that it appears to be haunted.

It feels like it, however, and that’s what matters.

Some say that magnetic field readings are the best method to assure if a place shows any supernatural presence. Mao, that has been working with curses and ghosts since he was fifteen, prefers the ancient method of letting the atmosphere get in touch with his energy. If the temperature in his body changes, it usually means no good.

He’s freezing right now.

Mao’s fingers play idly with the zip of his jacket when Ritsu talks again, and there’s a pinch of tension in his voice even as he tries to play it off with his usual teasing tone.

“Maakun accepts too many jobs lately.” he says, and Mao can imagine the way his head tilts to the side, eyes shining through thick eyelashes. “You should spend more time with me instead~”

Mao rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. The familiarity of the conversation keeps the embers of warmth alive in the pit of his stomach, valiantly fighting the cold.

“I’ll stop picking up your calls if you keep trying to convince me to stop working before every single job, Ritsu.”

An offended sound comes from the other side of the speaker.

“But then I’d be lonely.”

That’s the moment someone chooses to call his name in the background. Mao sighs. Ritsu’s capacity to complain about being lonely, even when most of the time he’s surrounded by his own coven, will never cease to amaze him. 

“I have work to do. I’ll call you later.”

Ritsu hums. His name sounds once again, and Mao recognizes the voice this time - Sena it is, then. He wonders if Ritsu should have been working himself, and he just chose to take a break to bother him for a while. It wouldn’t be off character for him.

“Call me if you need someone to rescue you, Maakun.” he says. Mao can’t help but feel a little affronted.

“When have I ever?” he says, but only the night is left to hear his words. Ritsu has already hung up. 

Mao lets his eyes wander to the silent house again. A shiver runs down his spine.

He walks towards it anyway.

* * *

See, there are a few rules to catching an evil magical being that one can’t just ignore. Mao likes to consider himself a professional in the field, but it’s not as easy to remember for others. Some people don’t know what’s lurking in the dark: that ignorance is both, a bliss and a curse. Because sometimes, just sometimes, the things in the shadows come out to play.

So, here’s Mao’s list to deal with haunted houses, a excerpt of his guide about weird supernatural shit:

  * When you are by yourself, don’t turn on the lights. It just makes them hide, not go away.
  * If there’s blood, take a better look at it. If it’s dry, you’re safe. If it’s still fresh, turn around and leave the place immediately.
  * Don’t ever touch it. It’s not yours to claim.
  * You might find that something has disappeared from your pockets. It’s okay. Sometimes they are curious. It will return to you eventually.
  * Don’t dwell too hard in what might be lurking in the dark. You’ll start to look for it without noticing, and then might find it.
  * Mirrors are dangerous. Don’t look into one. If you do, don’t talk aloud. It might have your image, but your voice still belongs only to you.
  * If it talks, don’t answer. Cover the mirror with the nearest blanket. If there’s more than one in the house, break the rest. Don’t let it escape.
  * As long as there’s a reflection it still see you. But you can’t see it.
  * Most times, you’ll be safe once you’re out. 
  * Go home. Put on your favorite t-shirt, because there’s a special kind of power in memories. 
  * Lock your door. Take a photo of it. You might be remembering just an illusion when you go to bed.
  * Keep your light on. Something might be waiting for the dark to come, but it’ll get tired soon enough.



* * *

The house is silent, except for a far off sound of dripping. Mao thinks it comes from the basement.

He doesn’t mind the lack of noise. Most haunted locations are like this - the ghost that throw stuff and scream in the dark are rare. Unless they’re exceptionally pissed, they prefer to save energy. And so, Mao takes a step into the building, then another. 

His clients said it’s been three months since the inhabitant of the house disappeared. Two since they tried to contact her, one and twenty-seven days since the police started investigating.

The agents in charge of the investigation refused to go again into the building, after the first time. The neighbors where the one to call him, after the situation started to feel impossible to sustain. Strange things happened at that house, they said. A cat has gone missing, just after adventuring too deep into the little, abandoned garden.

They think there is no girl left for the police to find. 

Spiderwebs tickle his fingers when he reaches out to grab the handle, invisible in the dim light that spills from the window. His eyes have little trouble adapting to the dark that surrounds him, and Mao stares at an old photo for a few seconds. A young girl, no older than twenty-five, is posing in the living room, showing a wink and a peace sign to the camera. The curtains are drawn, for some reason, but one can see her smile clearly in the light of the flash. She seems happy.

Mao silently wishes that she’s not the presence haunting the house.

The atmosphere is tense, rarefied, and Mao can smell the humidity of a home that has been abandoned for too long. Silently, he wonders how long the girl has neglected her obligations to the house, because the time of her disappearance does not explain the terrible situation he is witnessing. Cobwebs make a home of the hallways, caressing his cheeks and neck as he walks. Dust gathers in the corners and on the furniture, a silent witness to Mao's silent steps through the building.

He keeps hearing the dripping. It’s coming from the basement, probably.

(It’s always the basement, or the secret room, or the abandoned nursery in the second floor. Most spirits develop a liking for dramatics.)

Mao brushes the cobwebs away from the door with one hand, and then he reaches for the handle. There is an unsettling feeling nestled in his chest, waiting for the moment to launch the first rush of adrenaline through his blood, but he is used to it.

The stairs to the basement are winding and lose towards the bowels of the home. There’s not an inch of light, and Mao can almost physically feel the way his pupils shrinking, changing under the darkness. Mao can feel the magic tickling his nose and itching in the pads of his fingers. There’s a tug in his very soul, one that calls out to him, pleading him to change, to shift into something smaller, something safer. He doesn’t even ponder the option for a second. A cat, as determined as it might be, can never hunt a monster.

The steps are dusty. The dripping sound speeds up when Mao takes the first step, and a puff of air hits against his face. Like a breath.

His fingers clench into the pocket of his jacket, tightening around his phone. The whole atmosphere is slightly unnerving, but he’s not scared. His little regard to his own life might have been a source of concern on its own, if he wasn’t too busy trying to fix the world to pay attention.

“Okay.” he whispers, mostly to himself. “Here goes nothing.”

Mao starts his way down, steps unwavering. The instant he sets a foot inside the place, a musty, corrupt odor creeps out to greet him. Mao can’t help wrinkling his nose in disgust, but that’s all physical reaction he leaves out. At the end of the stairs, there’s an open door. 

The light at the other side is on.

Mao knows what a lure is when he sees it. He walks towards it anyway, more driven by his sense of duty than by true unconsciousness. The magic is still tickling his skin, pooling into his mouth. It drives him into a sense of familiarity, security. Whatever it is, Mao has probably faced it before. He might be able to help.

He crosses the door frame.

It immediately closes behind him.

Mao flinches unconsciously at the sound, but he’s too busy staring at the room itself. Walls entirely white, tiled floor. There’s a television against a wall, the dim light of its screen the only thing really fighting against the dark. It flickers when the images change, and the static coming off it is too loud to really let him catch any discernible sound.

It lights up the cat hanging from the ceiling.

Mao can barely make out his shape, almost prefer he couldn’t at all. Rope knots around its hind legs, and it’s been previously skinned. Drops of blood filter through the pink, raw meat and slide through its entire body, like the last caress of a loving owner, until they reach the mouth, open forever in a last scream of terror. His eyes are lost in the ground, incredibly blue against the skin, frozen in dread.

_ Drip, drip, drip _ , the blood goes against the floor.

Mao tugs at the sleeve of his jacket until it covers the palm of his hand, and presses it against his mouth to keep the stench away. The cat is starting to rot, patches of meat turning into a putrid gray, and the smell feels like a punch against his overly sensitive nose. 

He turns his head at the sliding sound coming from one of the corners of the room. There, darkest than the dark itself, a figure starts to take shape. It changes and flinches, almost like smoke, but Mao can see it nonetheless: under a cloak of shadows, only the hands are really visible. Its fingers are slim, bony, like spider legs. 

It just needs a second to disappear. Mao winks, and then the creature is before him. Its flimsy fingers flutter over his face, his neck, his shoulders. And that’s when Mao notices.

There were never spiderwebs in the first place.

It keeps whispering, in a voice that’s too broken and hoarse to sound anything but gruesome. “Kitty, kitty, kitty.” Like a litany, like a child song, like it’s actually happy to see Mao there. The blood from the cat keeps dripping to the ground, almost like a beat to its words.

“I’m not your cat.” Mao retorts, almost in instinct, and he raises a hand to slap its wrists away. But the creature is faster. 

Its smoky figure appears again, just a step away, just next to the television. The light seems to refuse to touch it, leaves it engulfed in the dark. 

“Of course you are  _ not _ .” It says, and its voice seems to drift away until it’s coming from a different place, just a whisper into Mao’s ear. Not a trace of its previous happiness. “You’re not a stray, aren’t you? But you could as well be, wandering here on your own. Do you know what happens to a cat when no one takes care of him,  _ boy _ ?” 

It sounds bitter now. The tone sends a shiver down Mao’s spine.

“Nothing good, I suppose.” he whispers, eyening the corpse of the hanging cat. The thing disappears again, shape nowhere to be found even if its voice keeps coming from everywhere.

“I could take care of you.” it goes on, sounding almost distracted. “I took care of her, didn’t I? And we were so, so happy… My kitty, my little kitty.”

The shadows regroup before the flickering screen. Experimentally, Mao takes one step towards it. Another, when there’s no reaction. And, finally, he sees what’s playing in the old television.

Is a video. Just a video. The girl from the pictures in the hall is featuring in it, even though she seems a few years younger, not even a teenager. She’s wearing a hoodie two sizes too big for her little frame, with a hole covering her whole elbow, but she’s laughing. It sounds like little bells. She turns once, then twice, as if showing her outfit to whoever is behind the camera.  _ It looks good, doesn’t it, Mrs. Weaver? We’ll find a patch for it, and then it’d be perfect! _

“I thought that stray was her. I thought she had come back.” the thing (no. Not a thing, but a woman. Not still gone enough to be considered a poltergeist, maybe.) says. Her aching spills all over her words, and makes them feel like broken crystal stabbing into Mao’s chest. “It had her same fur. It didn’t deserve it.” 

“You didn’t have to kill it.” Mao says, almost gently.

“I  _ didn’t _ !?” It turns into a tortured screech, and then it’s right in front of him again, hands tightening around his neck like threads of iron. Mao fights to keep his heartbeat in check, and fails spectacularly. Is still possible to breathe, even if it’s becoming difficult, and he takes a deep of air that stinks to rotten corpse. “It was not her! It was not her! It was not her, itwasnotheritwasnot-”

Is hard to talk with her hands around his neck, but somehow Mao manages to let out a soft string of words.

“What happened to her?” 

The spirit shrieks, as if Mao had tried to dispel her by magic, and she vanishes again. Mao takes in a deep breath, a hand unconsciously moving to caress his own throat.

For a few seconds, she doesn’t say anything. Mao is left with the odor and the disturbing sounds from the television, wondering if he should just make her go already, before her own wrath makes her stronger, even more dangerous to those around the house.

His grip is tightening around the spell in his pocket when she answers.

“They took her away.” she says, just behind him, breath ghosting against his nape. Mao turns in his heel, taking a step back. Briefly, he can see below the hood shadowing her face - there are just hollow gaps where her eyes should be, but somehow it still feels as if she’s staring right at him. “I know what you are, little kitty. I know exactly your kind.”

She reaches for his face again, the feeling of spiderwebs against his skin, his cheeks, forehead, lips. 

“I know who you are, and know that I won’t go. How could I, when she’s not here to bid me farewell? How could I, when I just want to tear off the hands of every single man, woman and children I see, just to make sure they won’t ever harm her?” her breath smells like death when she takes a step closer. Mao’s magic is light into his fingers and sweet under his tongue, ready to rise defenses against her. “I conquered death once, and I’ll do it again, unless you bring her to me.”

“What if she doesn’t want to come back?” Mao says. Her broken voice is made of unwavering faith when she answers.

“She will.”

Mao pauses. Ponders his options. Thinks about the cat, about the smiling girl in the screen, about the desperation filling the little room, the house, the whole neighbourhood. About touches that feel like threads and how they could be considered that of a mother, for someone out there.

He frowns.

“If you cause any harm while I’m gone, I’ll make sure to dispel you before she’s back.” he says. And the spirits laughs.

It sounds like bells, too, but those of a funeral march.

“We have a deal, cursebreaker.”

* * *

Mao calls Ritsu once he’s out. He doesn’t know why, exactly - he can’t shake the odor of death and decomposition from his nose, and the cold seems to be stuck to his body. It doesn’t matter how much he snuggles into his hoodie, the goosebumps won’t disappear. 

He knows what he should do. What he’s going to do. Make himself some coffee for the night, recollect scrapes from newspapers, ask Makoto for some kind of search spell, start turning stones trying to find a girl who is gone, who is missed, who is loved.

The second Ritsu picks up the phone, words are already spilling from Mao’s mouth. He doesn’t even register what he’s saying, only knows that he wants the warmth of his friend’s presence to keep the cold at bay.

“Hey, Ritsu” he says, and without even waiting for him to answer. “I think I changed my mind about making you dinner.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“So” Ritsu says, tone reproving. It’s usually the other way around, and Mao winces. “You decided to make a pact with an inestable spirit.”

“She was desperate.”

Ritsu hums.

“I could kill her for you, Maakun, that way she wouldn’t bother you again~”

They are both in the couch, Mao sitting like a normal human being, Ritsu laying with a cheek against his thigh. The situation is familiar enough to soothe away the feeling of dread that the spirit left in the pit of his belly, and Mao finds himself combing his fingers lightly through Ritsu’s hair before he can think of it.

“I can never tell when you’re serious” he says, not quite joking, but not too severe either. Ritsu smiles, lazy.

“I am always serious when it comes to you~”

Mao snorts. They both know that’s not true, at least. Ritsu stays silent for a few seconds, closes his eyes, snuggles against him as Mao fishes his phone out his pocket. He’s scrolling down, trying not to smile at Makoto’s last message in their group chat (“ _ Okay, but consider! _ ” and a link to a Len Kagamine’s live video) when Ritsu lets out a soft purr from the deep of his throat. Mao’s fingers cease their motion, and he can’t help the way his eyebrows shoot up.

“I’m supposed to be the cat, you know?”

Ritsu doesn’t even bother to open his eyes.

“Do I need to make the ears appear, Maakun?”

Mao makes an affronted sound, and he gently tugs on his hair in a silent complaint. Ritsu is such a  _ brat _ , sometimes.

“You literally paid Sakasaki  _ money  _ for those, Ritchan. It does not count.” says Mao, who hasn’t had an ear incident since he was ten and too excited for the new Pokemon movie premiere to keep his shifts in check. Now, Ritsu knows this. He insists that he only bought the spell to change shape because it gave him an excuse to be lazy around Sena, who at the time was still in the dark about what Ritsu was. Mao knows him better than that. He probably plans to forever remind him of the shame of his childhood slips. It’s the magical equivalent of saying  _ ‘Hey, do you remember that day when you wet the bed and…?’ _

Ritsu does look at him then, red eyes staring into him. There’s a grin tugging at his lips, and Mao finds himself smiling back fondly - he has that kind of effect. 

“Are you sure of that, Maakun? You can still make me your mate, I’ll give you the most precious kitt-”

“I’ll throw you off the couch” he warns, sounding resigned.

Ritsu just lets out a breathy laugh. It probably shouldn’t make happiness bubble into his chest.

* * *

Mao's job has nothing to do with searching for missing persons. There is no curse that caused the girl to leave, no spell compelling her to disappear from the lives of those who loved her, and definitely no magic is to blame for the fact that not a single one of her neighbours knows where could she be. For all he knows, this is a simple disappearance, and human police should be the one in charge.

But Mao promised. And so, he goes looking for Makoto in the morning.

There are certains advantages to being in a coven. A day ago, Mao would have said that being able to share knowledge and resources was the most prominent one. Now “they’re my friends, and therefore they won’t judge me too badly for agreeing to this” has taken its place.

(Hokuto asses him with a severe glare anyway, but the effect is lost by the fact that Subaru’s hanging from his shoulders with big eyes and mouth hanging open, like a surprised puppy.  _ “So are you a super magical detective now, Sari~ ?” _ he says. Hokuto pushes him away, with a hand to his cheek. Too rutinary to be effective as a reprimand.)

“I’m  _ definitely  _ not some kind of detective.” Mao says as he sits down in the arm of the couch. He sighs. “That’s why I thought that maybe Makoto would be able to help me.”

He can see Makoto’s shoulders fall when everyone turn to look at him, and then he’s frantically moving both hands in front of his body.

“Me!? But I can’t- I don’t know if I’ll be able to help!”

Mao can’t help but smile a little at that. Subaru, who is nothing but relentless even after Hokuto’s rejection, throws an arm around Makoto’s shoulder and ruffles his hair slightly.

“Don’t say that, Ukki~! If Sari~ has come to you, if because he knows there’s something you can do!”

“I only need you to do a quick search.” Mao takes out his phone, shows him one of the pictures he took (because there was no way the ghost would let him take a physical copy of one of the photographs, not when it could be the last remain of her existence), and waits while they take in the image. Even Hokuto gets up from the sofa, squeezing himself to Makoto’s other side to take a look. It ends up dislodging his glasses.

“That’s the girl?” Hokuto asks, and Mao nods silently. Subaru hums.

“She’s very pretty!” He says. Hokuto takes a step back, but Subaru stays in his place, arms laced around Makoto’s neck and cheek pressing against his. Makoto keeps a hand in his hip anyway, so it doesn’t seem like he minds it that much. 

“So? Do you think you’ll be able to help?”

Makoto’s eyes flicker from the phone to Mao’s face. He seems unsure for a few seconds before determination takes over his whole expression, lips pressed together as he nods. 

“I can at least try!”

Subaru lets go of him, softly chanting “Go, go, Ukki~! Fight, fight, Ukki~!” . Hokuto tugs at his sleeve, silently commanding him to leave him more room as Makoto takes in a deep breath. Mao goes back to his first position, sits down in the arm of the sofa, and waits.

Mao’s not afraid that he might fail. Usually, the only one that thinks so lowly of himself is Makoto himself. 

Makoto’s fingers hover over the air in front of him for a second, then two, as if reposing over an invisible wall. His eyes light up, green fire behind his glasses. When he starts to whisper, the whole room fills up with magic, the litany of an energy that would be new to most people -it’s familiar for him, like the ghost of a hug. 

Runes appear in the air, floating gently in front of him, dancing to whispered speech and latent power. Makoto holds them in place for a few seconds, words as old as time moving gracefully as he waits for them to gather enough force, filling them up with his own magic. It pulses in the whole room in waves, until it subdues slightly, just a tickle into his skin. That's when he starts typing.

The runes burst into particles of light that reshape, taking on new form, new meaning, new life under his fingers. The mirages that appear in the room resemble screens, but the images that cross them go too fast for Mao's eyes to distinguish their meaning. Makoto, right in the center, stands still like a statue, eyes shining in the dim light of the room.

Subaru playfully calls Makoto’s power  _ e-magic _ . Mao thinks the name might be fitting, but at the same time it downplays the extension of his ability. Makoto has been the first one curious and smart enough to test what could happen when applying magic to technology and the internet, after all. A new kind of wizard for a totally new era. His power is fresh, inestable, but at the same time full of possibilities. 

Even if Makoto doesn’t seem too convinced about the last part when Mao tells him so.

His low chanting stops as fast as it started, and the eyes he turns to Mao are full of jolliness. Makoto slides a hand upon the air, substituting the runes with one of the screens, now frozen on a specific scene: the girl, stepping out the door of what seems to be a bookstore.

“I think I got her!” Makoto taps twice in the image with his index, and it starts moving. Mao can see her walk away, hands onto the pocket of her jacket and steps calm. She doesn’t seem scared at all. “This is the security camera of one of the stores nearby. I tried checking the videos of the rest of the street, but there’s nothing.”

“So, if someone did kidnap her, it was near this place?”

Makoto doubts for a second. Changes his weight from one leg to the other, obviously uncomfortable. Slowly, he nods.

Mao pats his shoulder a couple of times in response. In the background, he can hear Hokuto sigh.

“Do you need help with the tracking spell?”

Mao shoots him a grateful look over his shoulder. Hokuto answers with a resigned smile.

He has the best coven.

* * *

Ritsu is a very good friend in general. 

Most people doesn’t believe it at first, because Ritsu can be kind of...abrasive. And come off as bratty at the beginning. And okay, maybe he seems uninterested in new people. Mao gets it, he really does.

But the thing is that they were kids once, and Mao remembers it vividly. Remembers Ritsu, eyes darkened by the apathy and a constant sleepy expression, remembers the cold of his skin and the way he clinged to his arm whenever they stepped out the house, as if fearing that Mao could disappear at any given second. Remembers how his own mother sat him down in his bed once, a hand softly caressing his hair, and said:  _ Most vampires don’t live long lives, sweetheart. I fear he will break your heart. _

“I thought I’d get to spend some time alone with Maakun.” Ritsu complains, very much alive and very much still by his side, and Mao smiles with indulgence. Hokuto, however, rolls his eyes.

“You can still come back once the job is done, Sakuma.” he says, and Mao intercedes before Ritsu can open his mouth to answer:

“Quit it, you two.” he takes two steps, until he’s in front of both, and then turns to look at them, hands to his hips and eyebrows raised. “You’re here to help me solve a case, aren’t you?” 

Hokuto silently nods. Ritsu grins. He’s wearing a dark jersey, sleeves partially covering the palms of his hands, and the outfit looks too light for the cold air of an autumn evening. Mao suspects the reason, but prefers not to dwell on it too much.

“Anyway” he says. “did you have to bring the sword with you, Ritchan? It’s kind of unnerving, you know?”

Ritsu runs a finger over the hilt, almost absently. The weapon hangs from his hip, and the cling of the chain that’s attached to the sheath becomes a constant reminder of its existence. There’s a charm shaped like a flower hanging from it, and Mao sometimes can’t help but wonder why would he choose such a delicate symbol for something with that bloody story.

“Secchan would nag me like a mother if I left without it.” Ritsu says. Hokuto raises an eyebrow.

“You guys are always prepared for a fight, aren’t you?” He sighs. “Well, I guess that’s to be expected.”

Ritsu hums, and tilts his head slightly to the left. Mao prepares to intercede again if the situation becomes too tense, but Ritsu doesn’t seem especially antagonistic this time. 

“Aren’t you ready for any unexpected battle, too?” he says, slurring the words. “Is part of a magical being’s nature, is it not? You’d try to blast me away with magic, if I tried to bite you.” And then he chuckles, low under his breath. “Consider me your personal bodyguard, this once.”

“Don’t say it like you’re doing us a favor.” Hokuto says, clearly irritated. Sometimes Mao forgets that Ritsu tends to have that effect on people. “It’s just a tracking spell.”

“And I’ll be glad if we could cast it already.”

Both turn to look at him, and Mao smiles at them and raises a hand, sparks of magic flying from his fingers and jumping to the ground, disappearing in the green light of his power. Ritsu smiles (“ _Maakun’s a showoff_ ” he whispers, but there’s no bite to his tone). Hokuto takes a couple of steps, until he’s right next to Mao, and he tends his palm.

Mao takes it in a firm grip. Behind them, the bookstore’s completely quiet, as if it’s waiting.

Mao can feel Ritsu’s own energy engulf them when his fade falls upon them, shielding their power from the rest of the world. It’s a cold kind of embrace, and it makes Mao fidgety, makes him remember how the chill of the wind didn’t bother him before. He knows it shouldn’t annoy him, even if he knows the reason, but still-

“Isara” Hokuto says, tone as grounding as his touch. “You need to focus.”

Mao looks at him, finding the fiery blue of his eyes. He can’t help the guilty feeling that awakes in the pit of his stomach - because what he’s doing now has little to do with his usual work, small curses, superfluous spells that went wrong and failed on their purpose. There’s a missing girl here, whose life could be on the line - and Mao can’t fail her. Won’t do it, whatever it takes.

Mao concentrates on his own power, lets it flow until it reunites with Hokuto’s - swirling around each other, like the slow dance of two old lovers.

They start chanting at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo. Sorry for the delay! Life has been crazy, and I feel... honestly? so insecure about my english lately.
> 
> But!! I'm trying my best. This is just a bridge chapter, but next will be more interesting.
> 
> So, you know, worlbulding might be confusing right now, but I'll answer any question on my curiouscat. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Ritsu leans into the rock, and he seems a little like the Cheshire cat when he looks down at Hokuto from his position.

“I think you need my help.” He says, slow and taunting and, honestly? Mao can’t help but sigh. Hokuto looks affronted.

“We’re not entirely sure yet” he retorts, even when the three of them know already - they are definitely going to need Knights’ help with this one. And Ritsu, who’s still grinning in victory, is the only connection they have with the coven. Hokuto might try to keep at least an inch of his pride, but the fact is clear at this point. “We only know that we’ll need Yuuki.”

“I don’t know~” Ritsu sings, and he stretches his arms above his head in a gesture that’s perfectly calculated to be as annoying as possible. Of that, Mao has no doubt. Ritsu has a special kind of power to antagonize literally anyone. “That seems like a pretty good barrier to me, mister wizard. But I’ll let you double check, if it brings you some peace of mind~”

Hokuto looks at Mao, as if he could actually do something about Ritsu’s attitude. He shrugs, with an apologetic smile. There’s a resigned sigh, and some magic sparks in the atmosphere as Hokuto’s, effectively, double checks the place.

Of course, because the universe likes to prove Ritsu right every single time, as if determined in keeping him at the top of his pedestal, the barrier stays in place. Not even a flinch against Hokuto’s power. 

Mao can’t help but wonder -  _ why _ . The choice doesn’t make sense, from a tactical standpoint. Because keeping all magic out means that the owner would have to dispel the barrier just to get in, and raising it again would take a lot of power, too much for a single person to waste on a regular basis. 

(Unless they’re Sakasaki, of course. But since he still has some moral standards, his name is scratched from the list of suspects from the beginning.)

“...Maybe we could call Morisawa.” Hokuto says, still looking at the barrier. Mao admires his will to keep fighting when the battle is obviously over.

“Ryuseitai has been absent for almost a week.” He answers, tone full of indulgence. “Morisawa-senpai said that one of them needed urgent help, so they cut the missions for a while.”

“Of course” Hokuto lets out a sigh of defeat, gaze travelling to the sky in desperation. “The one time that we really need their help…”

Mao shrugs. He can’t help but smile. Ritsu seems to be enjoying Hokuto’s desperation a little too much, if the glint in his eyes is anything to tell by. His fingers trail the sharp shape of the rock almost absently, but the shadow of a smile makes it impossible for him to hide the sneer behind his words.

“So, should I call our dearest little one, or do you want me to wait some more?”

Hokuto sighs. For the third time. He looks utterly defeated as he combs his fingers through his own hair, messing up his bangs.

“Will any other member of your coven show up?”

It's Ritsu's turn to shrug.

“Secchan is always like a nagging mother.” He says, and that’s enough as an explanation. 

Hokuto gives a pensative nod. Is all Ritsu needs to walk away from his rock, a hand already fishing out a phone out his pocket. Mao waits until there’s a safe distance between them, just for the sake of modesty.

“Knights are good at what they do” he reminds. “Their methods might be a little unorthodox, but still-“ 

Hokuto leans into the rock that Ritsu has just abandoned, and shakes his head. Mao knows what he’s probably going to say -  _ hey, Isara, remember when they kidnapped Yuuki?  _ Which he does. Forgiven but not forgotten, he guesses, but Ritsu promised that his coven would start behaving years ago, and they haven’t broke that faith - not yet, at least. And anyway, desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I’m just saying” Hokuto comments “that only a human will be able to go through that barrier. And honestly? Being Knights, I wouldn’t put it past them to had turned the boy into a demon.”

“...You’re joking, right?”

Hokuto throws both arms in the direction of the sky. Mao tries not to laugh.

* * *

Tsukasa Suou is a brat.

Mao would probably put it in nicer words, if asked. But that’s a fact: he gets offended easily, has a foul mouth hidden behind all those fancy words, and doesn’t have a single problem in stating what he thinks is wrong, even when he isn’t asked. 

Tsukasa Suou is also incredibly noble. 

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even show a trace of fear, when Mao explains the situation to him. He talks about abducted girls and a trail that leads to a building protected by a barrier powerful enough to stop Hokuto, explains about dangers and the little protection they can offer, about how he can’t assure his complete safety once he’s in there, and the boy just asks what can he exactly do to help and if he’s permitted to take his sword with him.

There’s a certain kind of tension behind Ritsu’s smile, and Mao can’t help but think how ironic it is, that he’s the one that’s unconvinced by this whole ordeal. Ritsu always likes to come off as distant and nonchalant, but he can’t help the quiet air of worry around him.

Maybe Mao just knows him too well.

“I don’t know if your sword will be of help in there, Suuchan.” He says, head slightly tilted to the side. At his right, Izumi huffs, clearly offended.

“It’s better than nothing, at least.” He puts a hand to his hip, lips curling in displeasure. “If something happens to him, Trickstar-“

“Stop treating me like a child, senpai.” Tsukasa intercedes. “I will take my sword, because it’s my signature as a  _ knight _ . And I will reunite with you in no time, so rest assured.”

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t do anything but look at them with serene, big eyes. And again, Mao thinks about how noble he is. Stupidly so, maybe. Knight’s history as a coven is long and bloody - and yes, swords are their signatures. Steel bathed in their own magic and other’s blood -, but there’s not a trace of malice in Tsukasa as he stares at them, one by one.

So maybe a human will be the first to clean the crimson out of their weapons. 

“Remember to stick the sharp side on them.” Mao offers. He can hear Ritsu giggle, even if the sound is not entirely right. He’s still tense. Mao wonders idly how it must feel, to be the one responsible of someone younger, someone who’s also a mere  _ human _ , fragile to the core.

Tsukasa looks at him as if he’s stupid, but he says nothing. Ritsu and Izumi hover at his sides, like very slim bodyguards. Izumi’s hand doesn’t leave the hilt of his weapon, but it rarely does so. He always seems at the edge, always ready for a fight. At least, while Makoto isn’t around.

And his friend isn’t. He’s seated in the rock that Ritsu had previously occupied, eyes glittering green, fingers travelling in a keyboard only he can see. 

No magic can trespass that barrier, but technology sure does. Hokuto’s still staring at the building, frowning in concentration. He’s probably still frustrated by the fact that Trickstar couldn’t manage by themselves this time. He likes to come off as cool and mature, but the pettiness is something intrinsic to his personality. 

His gaze travels back to Tsukasa, who’s valiantly looking back at him. Mao sighs.

“Okay” he says. “Let’s get this moving.”

* * *

Nowadays, most things are related to technology. 

Tsukasa is grateful for it. Because it makes it easy for Yuuki-senpai to disconnect the cameras, to open the door’s lock. At his very core, Tsukasa feels terrible about all of this - like a vulgar burglar that’s trying to break into someone else's house. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end at the silence of the place,and he can’t help the uneasiness that clings to his chest. Every step sounds incredibly loud in the deafening nothing that surrounds him, and the hall he’s walking seems to be a never-ending nightmare. Tsukasa keeps one hand at the hilt of his sword, the other extended blindly in front of him as his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

Before that happens, he touches the cool steel of a doorknob. His heart jumps in his chest, and he takes exactly two seconds to calm his breathing. 

He enters another corridor. This one is different, though -because the dry, deep silence of the darkness disappears.

Neither the light nor the whispers had filtered through the door, and Tsukasa draws in a sharp breath before he starts walking, throwing any trace of caution to the side. 

He marches past cells, past lots of heavy doors with bars and an even bigger number of bolts. And inside of every single one of them there’s a different face with the same eyes full of fear, body trembling. Tsukasa stops in every single one, promising that he’s going to help them, free them. He just needs time, just needs an idea, just hopes for a little miracle.

The resident of the tenth cell is the only one to call after him. Tsukasa sees him stumbling to his feet, leaning most of his weight against the wall, and then he limps to the door, grimacing in pain.

“Are you okay?”

The boy offers a smile. Tsukasa thinks that he’s around his age, maybe a werewolf -his fangs are too sharp to be natural, but not as thin as a vampire’s. His fingers enclose the bars, and his nails make a shiver run down Tsukasa’s spine - they are broken, purple bruises covered by a scab of dried blood that goes to his knuckles. He wonders what he scratched to end up like that, and with how much desperation.

“Sprained ankle.” the boy explains. His tone is cheerful.  _ Cheerful _ . Tsukasa’s eyebrows go up, in a gesture stolen from Sena-senpai. “Listen, they’re coming back soon-”

“Who?”

“Well, who do you- The shadows!” He says. Tsukasa’s expression must say it all for him, because the boy’s becomes immediately frustrated. He gets even closer to the bars, and takes a handful of his shirt to pull him in. His amber eyes are full of determination, surprisingly serene. “I know I don’t seem that smart, but I know what I’m doing- so listen to me, ‘kay?”

“I didn’t say you were-!”

“There’s a key in the kitchen!”

Oh, he has gone insane from the confinement. 

“Why would the key be in the kitchen?”

“I mean, I think it’s the kitchen? Is where they bring the food from.” He shakes his head with vigor, bloodied fingers increasing the strength of his grip. “Most of the cells are still empty. Pass them all, and then I think that you’ll see a door. Trust me in this, will ya’?”

“How do you even know?” Tsukasa says, and raises a hand to put him over his, trying to free himself. The boy blinks in a rapid succession, as if he hadn’t even noticed his own gesture, and lets him go.

“Increased senses. I listen a lot of things.”

Tsukasa gives a pensative nod, but he has already taken a step back. The other boy’s amber eyes don’t leave him for a second.

“It’s fine.” Tsukasa assures. “I will return soon enough.”

“Yeah.” The stranger says. “I sure hope you do.”

* * *

Effectively, there’s a key in the kitchen.

It’s a very little evil place to hide a key, and Tsukasa finds that it lessens the theatrical load of the whole situation. 

Three iron keys hang from the wall, just besides a calendar full of kitties images. Someone has scribbled a badly drawn heart at the left, but it has been scratched by a marker on another color. The kitchen is clean and tidy, and the faint smell of homemade bread lingers in the air. 

It’d be a room out of a fairy tale, if it wasn’t for what’s behind the door.

Tsukasa doesn’t take too much time exploring the place. He strolls to the keys, close his fingers around them.

The whole room shakes for a second, dust falling from the ceiling. It’s not hard or long enough for Tsukasa to lose his balance, but he feels dizzy anyway. 

His phone starts buzzing, and Tsukasa gives a little, startled jump before he notices that the movement is coming off his pocket. He takes it out - answers in a careful whisper, knowing who it is without needing to check the name.

“Sena-senpai.” he says. “I’m afraid to tell you that I’m rather  _ busy  _ right now-”

“Shut up, brat” Sena says, always the charmer. Tsukasa is taking small, silent steps to get out the kitchen, eyening around him and seriously lamenting that humankind was not gifted with peripheral vision. “You have to get out of there now, Kasa-kun.”

“I will, once I have-”

“I said  _ now _ .” Sena snaps, and Tsukasa presses the phone against his shirt in a futile attempt to keep the sound muffled. He can still listen to him anyway. “Both Isara and Hidaka say that they had noticed something behind the barrier.”

“I thought the barrier impedes all magic.” Tsukasa asks. A sack of floor falls from the shelves with a soft thud, and Tsukasa turns like a startled rabbit. There’s no one there.

He takes two steps back, and his hand reaches backwards for the doorknob.

“So guess how powerful it must be for them to feel it.” Tsukasa can hear it now, the worry behind the command.

He doesn’t think of running away for a second, and Sena’s concern only serves to fuel his determination. How could he look at his senpai at the face, after leaving the kidnapped people behind? 

The cloud of floor keeps floating.

Then something cuts through it. 

Tsukasa opens the door and turns in one swift movement, and he closes it fast enough for the  _ thing  _ to slam into it. It trembles in the racks, and that’s the second the adrenaline kicks in. Tsukasa sprints down the hall at full speed, tries to listen for a second strike, for the kick that will open the door. But nothing comes, and for two whole seconds the shouting of the prisoners is all he hears. 

Sena-senpai is calling his name. Once, and again, and again. Tsukasa can’t spare the second that talking to him would take, and so he doesn’t. 

He reaches the boy’s cell, and there he is - amber eyes and bloodied fingers and mouth already open to ask. Tsukasa skids, holding one of the bars to avoid going butt first into the ground, and he fidgets with the keys, trying to find the one that fits into the lock.

“Are you okay!?” the boy says.

“What was  _ that _ !?” Tsukasa answers, because honestly? It seems like a pressing matter.

“Don’t- Don’t open my door! The boss’ sister is right here by my side, she-!”

Tsukasa turns in the direction of the kitchen, wondering why is he not being attacked yet.

His fingers freeze for a second.

There, at the end of the passage, something is squirming under the door, tentacles of shadows that reach out to him in quivering motions. They keep flooding in, starting to grow tall, to take form. Darker than the dark, whatever It is seems to be sucking the light in, more like a hollow in the material of the universe than a true real being.

It doesn’t have eyes, but Tsukasa knows that it’s looking at him, senses it in the cold that’s biting his bones, the paper sand feel of his tongue.

The lock opens with an anticlimactic  _ click _ , and the stranger doesn’t lose time to push the door open, and then Tsukasa’s body towards the exit.

“Go!” he says, obviously anxious. The Thing is starting to move - jerky motions that seem unstable, wrong. It has something akin to legs and arms and a head, but just slightly so. As if someone had described anatomy to its owner, but it never understood exactly how it worked.

Tsukasa can feel his knees shaking. The boy’s hands are, too.

“You are hurt” Tsukasa remembers. “Your ankle-”

“I can still fight! You have done enough, so take as much people as you can and run, I’ll-”

“A  _ distraction _ .” 

“What- Do ya’ have to use english!?” The Thing moves towards them, a step that is everything but such. If someone could move the whole world instead of moving themselves, it would be just like that. “Just go!”

The stranger is trying to use himself as a distraction.

And he’s right, they need one.

Tsukasa pushes the keys against his hands, briefly looking into his eyes.

“Lead them outside.”

“Wh-”

Tsukasa runs towards the Shadows. He can hear the stranger shout something at him, but it’s too late. The hall is too narrow for him to outrun Them here, and it could make Them take some kind of interest in the prisoners. 

Tsukasa sprints past the Shadows right, reaching for the door handle. He touches it with the tip of his fingers before the creature remembers how to move, and then there’s something encircling his chest - frigid cold, a sea of nothingness that nails into his chest, pressing against his heart like a stake of ice. Tsukasa doesn’t even scream, because his lungs squirm and shrink and air seem to be a far off luxury, but he can feel the tears forming at the edge of his eyes.

For a moment, all he can think about is how he’s very, very alone. So powerless. So inadequate. So terribly human. And what can he do, except for giving up? Who would care, anyway? In a world full of wonderful beings, a society made out of creatures of fable, Tsukasa is just-

(Someone calls for him in the far off distance of the reality.)

-ordinary.

Tsukasa kicks the thing that’s holding him. His leg passes right through the shadows, engulfed in the dark. He struggles to get free, notices how easy it feels to fall back into the anguish, how the ice growing into his insides welcomes him with open arms. There’s still someone calling his name, and Tsukasa tries to take hold of his surroundings for enough time to locate the sound.

He still has the phone. Ritsu’s usual calm voice is gone, and Tsukasa needs a moment to recognize it - it sounds different when he’s shouting.

He draws his sword. It has no magic to feed of, but its weight makes him feel stronger. Tsukasa tries to stab the shadows. Again, the movement is useless. The heaviness of his own humanity feels like iron over his shoulders, fusing with the helplessness and whatever the Shadows are making him feel. Sena’s the one shouting at the other side of the line now. “ _ Brat, you better answer or I swear I’ll- _ ”

Tsukasa opens his mouth to scream, and darkness floods in, travelling down his throat to his stomach, lungs, and it’s impossible to breathe, impossible to  _ think _ , impossible to remember why was he supposed to  _ fight back _ -

That’s when he hears the roar. For a second, Tsukasa thinks he’s starting to hallucinate, but the Shadows retreat, their grip loosening for a bit. He takes a tremulous gulp of air, feel the ice recede from his insides, the heat of his own blood able to warm him up again.

Tsukasa falls in what feels an eternity of uncertainty, and his head hits the floor with a final thud.

There’s a high whistling sound in his ears and lights dancing before his eyes. He blinks them away when another roar breaks and resonates into the narrow space of the hall.

Baby steps, Tsukasa thinks, and turns until his stomach is against the floor. The movement is enough to make him nauseous. Tsukasa closes his eyes. His phone had gone flying with the fall, and he idly wonders if Sena will be the one to kill him if he survives now. 

He tries to get up slowly, gaze focusing in the fight.

There’s a tiger.

Tsukasa blinks. Rubs his eyes with his forearm. Looks again.

There’s still a tiger. And he’s losing. Badly.

The Shadows are not encicling him like he’s a prey - but they’re fighting back, slashes of something that sometimes looks like a talon, then a claw. The white fur of the tiger is dyed in red as wounds keep blooming, scarlet flowers that drip into the floor. 

But, unlike Tsukasa’s hit, both claws and teeth seem to be hurting the Shadows. They scream like a chainsaw.

Is somehow satisfying, even when he has to fight the impulse to cover his own ears. 

The Shadows throw him against the wall, and the tiger lets out a roar of pain. He tries to go back up, but one of his legs fail him - and he goes stumbling to the ground in a very undignified manner, whining. The Shadows, apparently still unsure of what form to take, avances to him with a hand full of long nails ready to strike.

Tsukasa tries to pull himself up, only to be hit by a new wave of dizziness. He leans against the wall, gripping the hilt of his sword so hard it hurts. 

Then, as if they were never there to begin with, the Shadows disappear.

Is almost disappointing. They go as smoke blown away by a gentle breeze, leaving behind nothing but blood that’s not theirs. Tsukasa lets himself slide down, wondering if that’s what they are planning - for them to feel safe, to lose focus before they attack again.

The tiger finally manages to stand, and Tsukasa remembers that the fight might still not be over. After all, he’s still here, weak and hurt, with a wild animal that might not be in his team - just bloodthirsty. Tsukasa is the only prey left.

He moves backwards, impulsing himself with his legs as the tiger advances to him, limping slightly. Tsukasa’s back hit the door, and his breath leaves him, chased away by fear. He doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t show a single physical prove of how scared he feels as he gropes the floor in search of his phone, the sword still firmly in his right hand.

The tiger keeps getting closer. When he’s just four or five feet away, he stills.

Tsukasa looks at him in the eyes, and his breath gets stuck in his throat. 

Those amber eyes of his stay the same.

“You-”

The tiger takes the few steps that separated them, but Tsukasa can’t find him in himself to be afraid anymore. The animal’s head rubs against his shoulder, and Tsukasa sighs in relief as he buries both hands in white fur. He’s alive. They’re alive.

“I told you to run away.” he says, getting away enough to give a good pull on his ear (Sena would be proud.)

The tiger growls in discomfort. Still, he tries to get his head under Tsukasa’s arm in a silent order. For once, Tsukasa is happy to obey. He uses the tiger as a foothold, just until he’s standing again, and then takes a deep breath.

“You managed to get  _ everyone  _ out?” The tiger looks at him intensely. Tsukasa takes it as an affirmative. “I must thank you for your  _ help _ , you…”

“You two” a voice cuts in, sharp. Tsukasa’s eyes widen in surprise. “are always  _ such  _ a handful.”

He follows the sound of the voice, right to the slender frame that’s cut against the light.

“ _ Onee-sama _ ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take this, before I decide that the characterization is horrible and delete the whole thing- 
> 
> (And sorry for the waiting!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re looking for Nagumo, aren’t you?” he doesn’t wait for Chiaki to answer. He’s about to say ‘you could have told us’, or ‘Trickstar is always ready to lend a hand’, or ‘you have done so much for us, why did you think you have to do this alone?’, but settles for “He’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TW this time!  
> I'm sorry, I know I took a hiatus, but the pandemic has been messing with my life a lot. Anyway, I'm back!

_What happens when an adventure book ends?_

_What happens when the main character goes back home, when magic seems to drift away with the memories of the adventure, when the crushing weight of routine falls onto their shoulders and makes them think: Maybe it was a fever dream. Maybe I went crazy for a while there. Maybe I should go and see a doctor?_

_Well, Anzu thinks, what happens is that they finally feel at peace. Because when you start thinking that it all might have been in your head, you stop missing the people you knew, the life that was yours -even if it was only for a while.- You only go back for real once you can convince yourself that you weren’t gone in the first place._

_So Anzu tries to forget. She doesn’t talk about it with anyone, doesn’t matter how close they are. Stays in her metaphorical lane. Smiles and goes back to her old routine._

_They don’t try to contact her again. For that, Anzu is grateful._

_(She develops a certain kind of aversion to isekai manga anyway.)_

_Her life goes on, and she becomes sure that she can be happy again._

_Until the shadows come. Because of course they do._

* * *

  
  


The boy is called Nagumo. Tsukasa discovers this because Anzu is apparently able to tell without any need for him to shape back to his human form.

The fact would surprise him, if it wasn't because it’s her. She was always attentive of every little detail. If she was to say that she noticed because she counted the dark stripes of his fur, Tsukasa would believe her. 

Anzu walks up to them, puts her hands on her hips and sends them the same glare Tsukasa’s mother used whenever he talked out of turn. It makes him feel like a child about to get scolded, the way her lips curve downwards.

“Suou-kun, everyone is worried sick about you out there.” She says. Her tone makes Tsukasa’s eyes go straight to the tip of his shoes, and he wonders how exactly does she manage to unleash a wave of shame upon him, when he’s sure what he did was right. “And you, Nagumo-kun...you told me to go get help,” she gives a soft pull to the tiger’s ear. “and forgot to add that they can’t even come into the building.”

The boy (Nagumo. Tsukasa is sure he knows the name from somewhere) turns back into his human shape. Tsukasa averts his gaze, because he has always felt transformations as something intimate. There’s something special about how a person becomes accustomed to themselves again, how their fingers always flich slightly as they remember how it felt to have hands, how their eyes seem lost, almost as if they don’t know who they are for a second, and then…

“I had to keep ya’ safe, anego!” Then you got a very loud boy covered in blood and scratches. 

Anzu opens her mouth, affronted, and then she closes it again with a huff. She takes Nagumo’s bicep, helps him get up with a rather impressive lack of delicacy (between “ouchs” and “ahs” and disgruntled “anego”s), and then makes him pass an arm around her shoulders, using her other hand to encircle his waist. 

She looks back at Tsukasa, small in Nagumo’s embrace but still full of dignity. He can see her eyes glittering softly, just an echo of power.

“Do you need help, Suou-kun?”

Tsukasa flinches. He hurries to get up, trying to ignore the dizziness that clouds his head. The room stops moving after just a few seconds.

“I would never ask aid from such a remarkable _princess_.” Tsukasa says. 

Nagumo rolls his eyes. 

Anzu fails at hiding her fond smile.

* * *

Mao has to admit that Anzu’s presence was a surprise. He could have done without it.

There’s a new type of worry washing over him now, as he waits for them to walk out. It would be stupid to ignore the fact that this whole thing has become personal. They’re not simple hostages but his friends. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in the pit of his belly and shapes itself into anxiety. It’s hard to keep his breath even. 

The child clinging to him sobs against his leg, and Mao lets a hand comb through the red locks of her hair. She’s the only one still next to him, and Mao can hear Hokuto asking questions to the rest in the background. The soft vibrations of Makoto’s magic in the air tell him that he’s trying to find the police files about their disappearances.

He doesn't need him to do that for the little girl. Mao would recognize Kuro Kiryu’s little sister anywhere, even if it’s the first time they meet in person. It's written just there, in the shape of her knows and the green of her eyes.

Still, he kind of wishes she would have attached herself to Ritsu. He’s so much better with kids than Mao. 

He’s pondering the option of offering her a tissue so she can stop rubbing her wet face against his shirt when Anzu comes out from the building for a second time. She’s not alone now.

Mao’s breath hitches, and he fishes his phone out his pocket to dial Chiaki’s number. As he waits, Ritsu and Sena walk (doesn’t run, even if their steps are suspiciously fast) up to them. Tsukasa stands with a pose that pretends to be dignified but falls short, skin too pale to be called anything but sickly. Mao thinks that even a burst of wind could knock him down, but he has a stubborn expression painted into his features, and bats away Sena’s hand when he tries to take a better look at his face. 

Chiaki answers when they’re halfway back to the rest of the group. Mao can feel the little girl shake against him, and he presses a calming hand against her back. 

“Morisawa-senpai?”

“ISARA,” Chiaki says (and it could be called a shout if this was anyone else, but Mao knows him enough to this point to understand that that’s just his usual voice level) “Why are you calling me!? Did something happen!?” Someone calls him in the background, and there’s a small pause. When he talks again, Chiaki’s voice is a bit lower, and Mao can’t help but notice the tint of worry in his tone. “Actually, we’re a bit busy right now! But if you-”

“You’re looking for Nagumo, aren’t you?” he doesn’t wait for Chiaki to answer. He’s about to say ‘you could have told us’, or ‘Trickstar is always ready to lend a hand’, or ‘you have done so much for us, why did you think you have to do this alone?’, but settles for “He’s here.”

Chiaki stops breathing for a moment, and when he talks his words smash together, one against the other as his mouth tries to keep up with his brain. What Mao can decipher is something like:

“What do you mean where are you is he okay?” 

He squints his eyes in the direction of the approaching boy, trying to guess if his limping is from a sprain or if he really has a broken bone, but it proves itself difficult at such distance. Kuro’s sister sobs again, louder this time. 

“Do you mind if we see each other back at Hokuto’s home, senpai?” he finally says. Chiaki dissolves in a bunch of “yes” and “of course”, and Mao cuts him. “Can you call Kiryu-senpai for me, too? Tell him we have his sister.” 

* * *

They have to call for three rides to take everyone home.

At some point, as they wait for the King of Knights to arrive with a car, Ritsu approaches Mao. He seems about to say something, but his eyes lock with the little girl’s, and he changes his mind.

Ritsu doesn’t kneel by her side, but he smiles. A lazy gesture that Mao recognizes as a façade. 

Still, she stops crying, eyes very open and mouth slightly agape as Ritsu bows down, takes one of her hands and places a light kiss to her knuckles before asking if there’s something he can do to soothe the heart of such a beautiful princess. The girl’s face looks as red as her hair.

Just five minutes later, she’s asleep against Ritsu’s shoulder as he holds her. Mao tries to hide his smile, and fails.

“You sure are good with kids, right?”

Ritsu huffs, annoyed.

“You better praise me for my hard work, Maakun~” he says. “I’m not doing this by the goodness of my heart, you know?” 

Mao rolls his eyes in indulgence. 

“Of course you’re not, Ricchan,” he says, and pretends not to notice the way Ritsu cradles the girl when she stirs in her dreams.

* * *

Things become a blurry of movement from there. If at the end of this very long day someone asked Mao how would they summarize the situation, he’d say this:

There are a lot of people in Hokuto’s house, which also serves as Trickstar’s unofficial headquarters. They start making sure that none of them is wounded (only Tetora, who admits that he hadn’t been acting as the smartest boy alive), then they ask for names, directions and the stories of their kidnappings.

Except for Anzu, all of them are shapeshifters. 

Mao makes a mental note to talk about it with the rest later, once their hands stop being full with a bunch of scared victims. Some of them flinch when they notice the moving shadow of the curtains, and they don’t have enough mugs to make them all a hot chocolate, nor enough blankets to pull around their shoulders. Mao doesn’t know how is that supposed to help, but Subaru (who spends the sunday evenings watching a show about crimes and police) says that it’ll make them feel better.

Mao doesn’t say it, but the mere presence of Subaru seems to be lifting their spirits well enough. 

Of course, they ask about him (about what he is), because most of these people don’t even have that many ties to the Market to being with. They explain it briefly, glossing over the details.

“A star,” a young man repeats. There’s a crow in his head, because one of them has decided that all of this is too much to take as a human and that they’re _done_ with the whole person thing for a while. “Aren’t those like, super powerful when they fall?” 

“Either we become super powerful or just useless space rocks!” Subaru chirps. “But there’s not that much difference between me and Anzu!”

Mao begs to differ, but he keeps his mouth shut. Anzu, sitting next to Ritsu and still holding a mug, doesn’t say anything either. She could as well explain that she’s more like a bridge, something that makes it easier for the magic to go from the ground to the person, where Subaru is like a rechargeable battery ready to burst. She prefers to keep quiet, and it doesn’t surprise him. Even before she left, Anzu wasn’t the type of person that talks about her powers. 

Ritsu still has Kuro’s little sister sleeping on his lap, and he lets his head fall upon Anzu’s shoulder with a tired sigh, eyes closing. Mao feels something uncomfortable weight down on his stomach, but there’s no time for him to dwell on it, because that’s the moment the rest start to arrive. 

First it’s Kuro, who doesn’t even bother to wait for Hokuto to end opening the door. He pushes it, almost slamming the other against the wall, and strides to his sister. He picks her up with one arm (she blinks herself awake, screams happily, and throws both hands around his neck), and reaches out to Tetora with the other.

The boy stutters a bit, but he doesn’t fight back as Kuro hugs him. Mao can feel his shoulders shake lightly as he says “I tried to take good care of her, boss!”

“I know you did,” Kuro says. He sighs in relief, trying to pull them even closer. “’m glad you’re okay, Tetsu.”

Mao catches Ritsu’s eyes across the room, and he smiles. His friend, who hasn’t even bothered to get his head up from its new spot on Anzu’s shoulder at Kuro’s arrival, forms a smirk. Mao can almost hear him: _Maakun is getting a bit sentimental, isn’t he~?_

Mao rolls his eyes again, and then he excuses himself. Makoto looks up from his searching spell when he sees him walk to the entrance.

“Are you going out, Isara-kun?”

Mao pats his shoulder in an offhanded gesture as he passes by.

“Just going to get some air,” he says. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Of course, Makoto doesn’t put any objection. Mao can feel Hokuto’s eyes following him as he leaves, but for once not Ritsu’s. It was easy to forget that, as much as Anzu was a non official member of their coven, she has a natural talent to become a magnet to any member of Knights that is in the vicinity. 

He closes the door behind him and leans against it, eyes closed. As much as he wants to put off a front, as much as he wants to appear calm about the situation, he can’t help but wonder…

All of them are shapeshifters, except for Anzu. And someone ( _something_ ) was powerful enough to kidnap them and trap them. And either that someone ( _something_ ) was stupid enough to forget about covering their magical trace, or they wanted to be found. And now Trickstar has a room full of people who will want to go back home, but won’t have the means to protect themselves.

Between a rock and a hard place… 

Mao feels someone approaching, in that curious way one has to notice a presence even when its owner is being very silent. He turns around, expecting it to be either Shinobu or Kanata.

What looks back at him are two pairs of identical green eyes. 

The twins smile at once, and Mao ponders the idea of following the crow guy’s example and turning to the easy life of a cat.

“Let me guess,” he says instead, because he’s too attached to his grip thumps. “Sakuma-senpai wants to see me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And yes, I promise there will be more ritsumao next time, just...let me introduce the plot first.)

**Author's Note:**

> SO. A suburban fantasy longfic. The next chapter will be less....dark, I swear. At least, most of them.
> 
> Most characters will appear at some point. Probably all of them! If anyone is curious about their fave(s), I don't consider worlbuilding spoilers, so [here's my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/gladiusprocella)! 
> 
> thanks for reading!


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